


Targets

by sidebyside_archivist



Series: Arrows and Targets [2]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-08-01
Updated: 2002-08-01
Packaged: 2020-06-25 03:43:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19737634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidebyside_archivist/pseuds/sidebyside_archivist
Summary: Kirk the seducer, despite his injury, gets his man.





	Targets

**Author's Note:**

> Note from LadyKardasi and Sahviere, the archivists: this story was originally archived at [Side by Side](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Side_by_Side_\(Star_Trek:_TOS_zine\)) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2019. We tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Side by Side’s collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sidebyside/profile).

I crouch beside the captain. He rouses and greets me warmly.  
  
"Hey, Bones."  
  
The scanner shows two wounds in his right leg and more pain than I would have expected based on his voice.  
  
"You just relax there, Captain, while I get a look at you. Then we'll get you back to the shuttle."  
  
There isn't enough light from the midmorning sun here in the forest so I power up two portable lamps to work by. There are two neat cuts in his quadriceps where, I assume, Spock removed the darts which have been stored in the camp medkit he handed me when I arrived.  
  
"You could have been a surgeon, Spock."  
  
"I hope I have not caused the captain undue additional damage."  
  
The tone of his voice is off. I look up at him. He is kneeling, sitting back on his feet, at the corner of Kirk's sleeping pad. He looks a bit. . . well. . . shell-shocked. I wonder at this as I test the sensitivity of the nerves of Kirk's leg. It looks as though only the muscle itself is affected.  
  
"No, no, you did a fine job." I hear myself slipping into general bedside chat mode, which I despise.  
  
The sound of many additional feet is heard outside the tent as well as the sound of hands slapping on chests. My patient half sits up and twists to peer out of the tent.  
  
"The chief is here with his warriors?" Kirk asks me.  
  
"They said they would escort us. Seemed determined to overcompensate for the confusion yesterday."  
  
" He indicates the stretcher behind me. "I can't be carried out of here--just splint it."  
  
"Jim, half the muscles in your leg are paralyzed. . . "  
  
"Bones, we just spent the last eight days building the respect of these people. I can't be seen being carried around with a few scratches."  
  
I shake my head.  
  
The captain insists, "There's no risk to it--just brace my knee and give me a local."  
  
I look over at Spock for support. He offers no opinion and I suspect he would have a hard time formulating one at this moment.  
  
"Oh, hell," I say as I pull out the instacast. If he hurts more, he'll only be getting what he deserves.  
  
Kirk hobbles off in the direction of the village with assistance from one of our security officers. This greatly impresses the chief. I shake me head at this encouragement of Kirk's self-absorbed behavior.  
  
I hang back with Spock, intentionally delaying until we are alone.  
  
"What's up?" I ask him. He is packing up the last of the samples. Security has taken the tent and the camp supplies already. Four native warriors are waiting patiently for us so as to take up the rear.  
  
He doesn't answer right away. Eventually he asks, "Will you be able to cure the captain's paralysis?"  
  
I know an avoidance tactic when I hear one. "I expect so," I reply noncommittally. I must admit that after watching the captain limp off it had left my immediate concern.  
  
Spock slings the sample case over his shoulder and stands up. I have to move quickly to keep up. I resort to a hand on his arm to prevent him from regaining the main party.  
  
He stiffens and seems to take excessive affront at this unwarranted contact, but he has stopped and faces me.  
  
"I'm not done with you yet," I say.  
  
My words seem to melt his rigidity. He adjusts the case slung at his side with a hand I swear is not quite rock-steady. Kirk's condition isn't serious enough to warrant this level of distress in this Vulcan.  
  
"Spock, what's wrong?" I ask gently. "You seem . . . unsettled."  
  
The warriors have stopped in formation five paces behind us. They wait with calm, uncomprehending expressions for us to continue.  
  
Spock takes a deep breath. "During the night, the captain's fever resulted in a. . . mild delirium. I am. . . uncertain what to think of his revelations."  
  
"Oh, is that it?" I know Kirk's opinion bears enormous weight with Spock. I give him a reassuring smile and a friendly pat on the arm. "Spock, I'm sure Jim didn't mean what he said--humans say all kinds of things when their delirious with fever. Don't worry about it."  
  
Spock's strange expression makes me think I've said the wrong thing, somehow. He recovers his mask quickly though and we begin walking again.  
  
============================  
  
In response to the captain's summons I present myself at his door.  
  
"Come in, Spock," he invites in a friendly tone.  
  
He appears to be calm, convivial even. I wonder at this. For myself I feel as if I have lost my frame of reference, as though I am a moored boat that has been tethered too loosely in unexpectedly high waves.  
  
"Well, Fleet should be happy about the results of negotiations," he says.  
  
"Indeed, Captain."  
  
I realize that I am uncertain what the captain expects of me. I am unaccustomed to uncertainty of any kind, especially personal uncertainty.  
  
He stands, making judicious use of the desktop. As I move forward to assist, he waves me off and grasps a cane propped against the desk. He steps forward with it braced against his hip.  
  
"Perhaps I should go to the lab and assist with finding an antidote. . ." I say, disturbed by his difficulty.  
  
"No, no. Stay here. Bones said they'd have something by tomorrow afternoon at the latest." He steps around to the bed chamber. "I want to talk to you a bit." After sitting heavily on the bed, he hangs the cane in one of the room divider's gaps. He then sighs as he considers his feet. "I didn't call you here for this, but could you pull off my left boot?"  
  
I obey without thought, stooping to carefully remove his footwear.  
  
"Sorry, Commander. A bit above and beyond," he apologizes as he slides backward with an apparent twinge of pain.  
  
I stand. "It is quite all right, Captain." I find myself wishing for another concrete task.  
  
He slips off his uniform shirt and pulls the covers over himself. He relaxes, gaze fixed beyond the ceiling. I have not been dismissed.  
  
"Have a seat," he says.  
  
There is no chair. He shifts to make room beside himself on the bed. With unaccustomed trepidation I follow this unspoken instruction. He smiles gently at me. In the past I have observed his use of charm to influence others. I have also noted that he resists using it on me as if he realizes I am just as susceptible to it even though I am certain I have given no indication of this.  
  
"Spock. . ."  
  
He has taken my hand in his own, is stroking my fingers in a human way, not a Vulcan one. His fingers then trail up the underside of my wrist. His eyes are watching me closely for a reaction. Inside I am a maelstrom of conflicting impulses and instinct. Stable within this swirl is the core of warmth that ignited last night at his informing me of his deep feelings. I hesitate to use it as an anchor; I fear it will be my undoing.  
  
His head tilts to one side as he regards me. I hold my hands steady and fix my gaze on a point to the left of his right ear. He seems to be thinking things over.  
  
Eventually he sits up and in one smooth motion, slides his arms around me. His chest is cool and his generous muscles cushion the embrace. His hand strokes my hair and he whispers my name again. It is this verbal caress that splits my mind open. His hands slip under my tunic and brush the flesh above my waistband. Cool wet lips touch my neck.  
  
I cannot move. Like an orbiting planet, my momentum holds me away but his gravity keeps me close. I utter a sound that I cannot at first comprehend. Upon replaying it in my mind, it startles me with its similarity to a whimper. It shakes me into some manner of control. I push him to arm's length.  
  
"Jim."  
  
His hand caresses my face still. "Let me show you. . ." he says softly, pleading.  
  
"I. . . show me?" I ask, the verb seems nonsensical in this context.  
  
===================================  
  
"Show you what human love is like," I say. I study him again, gauging him. The angular features of his face seem softer than normal. His posture is bent, his head bowed. Looking at him is making me feel more sympathetic pain for him than I ever have. "If you are going to be so vulnerable to me I want to make it worth your while," I finally say.  
  
"I do not necessarily subscribe to that reasoning, Captain."  
  
He eases the grip on my upper arms and purses his lips in thought. Watching him over the last year has forced me to redefine my definition of beauty. He straightens his shoulders and I think he is about to stand and leave, but he remains sitting.  
  
"You are offering. . . sex?" he asks.  
  
I nod. "Pleasure, essentially."  
  
A look of disbelief crosses his face and I feel a smile on my lips, which I keep subtle. I brush his perfect bangs back out of place and let my hand gravitate, apparently naturally, to his right ear. The elegant pointed tip is more flexible than I would have thought. I then find the neck seal on his tunic and tug it all the way under and down the sleeve. His top peels away like a second skin when I repeat this in the other side. He is now officially out of uniform.  
  
"Spock," I say matter-of-factly as I take his hand loosely in my own. I want to make certain he isn't held here by duty. "You can leave anytime, you know. Even just say 'stop' at anytime."  
  
He stares at me and finally nods. "I realize that, Captain."  
  
His thermal shirt has no seams. I shift forward running my hands over the tight cloth on his chest and abdomen and find his lips with mine. They taste of bitter melon and tea and dry earth. He responds to the kiss and I keep his lips busy while I unseal his pants. I slide my hands around to the sides of his buttocks and tug downward. He doesn't assist the process by standing up. I decide I have enough slack and slide my hand back around his waistband to draw his cock out over his briefs. His torso goes rigid as my hand encounters his softness. I pull him closer to the kiss with my free hand and stroke him lovingly with the other.  
  
"Jim," he gasps into my mouth as I pick up the pace of stroking and his cock stiffens with a twinge.  
  
My own cock surges into a painful erection inside my trousers. I want to give this to him so badly. Want to drive him over the edge of ecstasy, make him scream my name in glorious release of that reserve.  
  
His cock feels wonderful in my hand, so hot, the core rock hard but with a loose covering of very soft skin. His pulse makes the whole thing like a faint vibrator. The head is longer and less ridged than a human one with more point to the tip. I press a fingertip into the slit at the very tip. He moans with a tinge of whimper.  
  
I long to fuck him. To bend him over my bed and drive into him with my needy cock. I want him to hear my own lust. But I wrap that all up and bury it inside me. My throbbing leg makes itself known constantly and I fear it is more than he can handle right now. I settle for making him wild with pleasure. I can jack off later with ease with all of the fantasies swirling in my head.  
  
I urge him to lean forward so I can slip his pants down to his hips then press him back so I can slide them down his thighs. "Come closer," I say seductively.  
  
He reaches down to push his pants down over his boots. He slips boots and pants off and leaves them in a heap on the floor. His bare ass is so beautiful the glimpse I have of it as he turns makes my erection press painfully against my fly.  
  
I direct him with my hands as he shifts closer. He follows my hands and places his knees on either side of my hips. I shift backward to rest against the bolster bringing him with me. His cock bobs before me, dark green and thick with desire. I rub my hands over his firm buttocks, relishing the small curve of them. His balls are tucked back far from his shaft, more distinctly two than a human's. A fine covering of soft hair shrouds them. I brush me fingers over it.  
  
===========================================  
  
He is fondling me with a fine touch which contrasts with the chill air of his cabin. It torments the screaming need in me. My thoughts can focus on nothing but his touch on me. My organ hungers and I hunger with it. Each touch causes a shift in the stiffness and it fairly writhes, causing a similar writhing in my chest and brain. I ache with a need more desperate than the thirst for water in the driest seasons of Vulcan.  
  
I want to beg but don't know how. <EM>Please satiate this need</EM>, my mind pleads. <EM>Free me from this physical chain</EM>. As if in response, his hands grab my buttocks and pull me forward. I look down and see my glans disappear into his open mouth. The cool wetness sends static electricity across my skin. I hear myself gasp and groan. One of his hands moves to encircle me and begins sliding back and forth from his lips to my testicles, bumping the latter.  
  
The need in me shifts in whole, relief floods my limbs. This is what the need was demanding. I wonder fleetingly how he could know so precisely. Aren't Vulcans more different than that?  
  
The waves of blessed relief continue as his hand and mouth continue their concerted efforts. In mimicry of his actions I stroke his hair as I watch the movement of his hand, listen to the delicious wet sound of his lips as they close and re-close over my glans. His tongue strokes and circles, varying its ministrations just enough. I am enraptured by this gift he gives to me. I would have imagined his actions to be demeaning to the point of abhorrence. That he does not find them so speaks profoundly of his affection for me. Emotion threatens to overwhelm even the intense pleasure.  
  
I withdraw from him. He strokes and grasps my butt cheeks and looks up at me. His lips are dark red from the friction and moisture surrounds them. He strokes my thighs, massaging them a little as he does so. We stare at each other. One of his hands slips up the inside of my thigh and cups my testicles, rolling them against my groin. His look shifts to one of pure seduction. It causes my cock to surge painfully.  
  
"Come," he says and pulls me forward again into glorious relief.  
  
A new discomfort begins building as his attention continues. I grab the bolster hard to try to suppress it. It seems to be caused by his attentions as though his is filling me with this discomfort. I urge him to stop again and watch as he uses the break to pull something from the beside drawer. He pours what appears to be oil onto the palm of his hand and works it over all of his fingers. When he next grabs my penis the sensation is softened, more profound. He squeezes harder as he strokes me. The new discomfort spasms inside of me. He pulls me close again, this time taking my right testicle into his mouth. His free hand slides again up my inner thigh, but this time his fingertips explore backwards until they encounter my anus where they circle, leaving trails of oil.  
  
I cannot comprehend his actions. His stroking hand has eased almost to a maddeningly light touch. His mouth is coating my testicles with cold saliva. I groan my impatience then suppress it, trusting him. His index finger slips into my anus and moves in a circle, stretching my sphincter. His middle finger joins it and both digits slip in fully. I find myself completely still, focusing on his fingers as they spread the opening to my rectum.  
  
"Jim?" I ask questioningly.  
  
He doesn't respond but returns my glans to his mouth. His oily hand now strokes my erect penis with a tight grip. The discomfort rebuilds and I struggle not to cry out my dismay at it. His fingers bend and stretch inside of me, his knuckles pressing painfully against my groin. As he bends them farther, though, they bump my prostate sending shearing pleasure through my erection which jumps in his mouth. I hear the echo of my cry on the sound-proof walls of his quarters.  
  
I am thrusting now into his mouth. He is guiding me with his hand. The incomprehensible discomfort has exploded into a blaze of pleasure. I am nearly mindless with it. My body has fallen into instinct. I want to drive myself into him, feel him around me, feel my touch on him through his mind. I want to impale myself on him, I want his entire fist in me, not just his fingers. This lack of full completion seems to feed the orgasm into rolling out longer as these needs bloom in a sequence in my mind.  
  
I am calling his name, I realize, as the pleasure fades leaving my mind free and my body lax. My testicles throbbing captures my attention.  
  
"You haven't cum," he says. He withdraws his fingers and cups my testicles again.  
  
I have to find the right switch in my body for this. Vulcan males have conscious control over ejaculation though I do not know control of the mechanism. The delay becomes sharply painful.  
  
His hands pull me down and lay me beside him on the bed. His right hand returns to a gentle kneading of my tender balls.  
  
"Relax," he whispers.  
  
I trust him again and after three controlled breaths find the muscles controlling the erection and close the dilated veins.  
  
"Spock?" his beautiful voice asks.  
  
"It is all right," I respond and sigh at the release of tension as my penis molds to his hand, lays heavy against his fingers. I groan as my testicles squeeze and semen oozes into Kirk's cool palm. This happens repeatedly until the pressure is gone leaving warm completion in its space.  
  
Kirk shifts and I guess he is wiping his hands on his discarded tunic. I stand and begin to retrieve me clothing from the floor.  
  
He looks up at me. "You're leaving?" He then shifts gears. "Never mind," he says gently. "You probably need to be alone."  
  
I look down at him. The covers are in disarray and he still has his trousers on. Surprisingly, I do not need to be alone. I need to be near him, inside him, surrounding him, but not alone.  
  
"You desire my continued company?" I ask, completely uncertain about standard social protocol for this situation.  
  
He straightens out the covers and folds his hands over his abdomen. "Only if you want to."  
  
He has emptied me of all sexual need, freeing me from bonds I did not know existed and he still considers my needs above his own. "I. . ." I begin, torn between habit and new realization. "I would prefer to stay," I finally say.  
  
============================================  
  
I grin at him. At first wondering if he is agreeing to stay because he thinks it is expected of him. The honesty in his voice is unmistakable so I relax and finish undressing with no little pain from my leg. He assists with pulling my trousers free of my feet. During which I have to work hard on staying un-aroused. I watch him straighten and strip off his tunic and black t-shirt as I hold the covers open for him to enter.  
  
He settles against me, warm and dry to my cool and sweaty.  
  
"You have not been pleasured, Ca-- Jim," he observes.  
  
My cock lays half turgid, touching his hip bone. It stirs at his words.  
  
"Will you allow me to pleasure you?"  
  
"Will I allow?" I ask with a hint of sarcasm. "Please, do."  
  
His hot hand shifts down to my nearly hard cock, stroking it into fullness. I let out a sharp breath of relief.  
  
"Do you want to fuck me?" I ask, desire speaking for me.  
  
His stroking falters for a second then continues. "Yes," Spock replies, his voice even deeper than normal.  
  
"Good." As much as my injured thigh will allow, I rock my hips to the rhythm of his hand. "I want you to fuck me. You have a beautiful cock, I want to feel it inside me." I ride with the pleasure for a while then hold it back. I want this to last as long as possible.  
  
"Do you wish me to use my mouth?" Spock asks.  
  
I shake my head. "Not yet. Where do you want me to be when you fuck me?" I ask.  
  
He doesn't respond immediately. "On my bed," he finally answers.  
  
"Not in the command chair on the bridge?" I tease.  
  
"I do not think that can be easily arranged."  
  
"You've only wanted me since yesterday?" I ask, fighting the build to orgasm.  
  
"I believe that was my first moment of realization."  
  
"Uhn," I groan. "Please, use your mouth."  
  
His hot rough tongue rasps over my head as he settles into sucking me. Within seconds he has worked out a more than adequate technique.  
  
"You know I think I've wanted you since the first moment we met. You looked so incredibly sexy standing there in the transporter room when I first came aboard." I pause a moment to thrust upward a few strokes until the pain overwhelms the pleasure. "I thought for certain you must be Pike's. . . or somebody's." Orgasm takes me then, a short, satisfying one.  
  
Spock shifts back up beside me, pulling the covers straight over both of us, but mostly over me. "How did I get so lucky?" I ask with a smile.  
  
"Luck has nothing to do with it," he says. "You are first being I have found to have the perfect combination of logic, physical appeal and. . . charm."  
  
I chuckle at that. "You are susceptible to human charm?" I ask in disbelief.  
  
"Vulcans are not taught to resist it since it is such a rare quality in our people."  
  
I reach up and trigger the bed light to go off. I shift on the bed, sending spikes through my forgotten injury. A warm hand strokes my thigh and the pain blissfully fades. "Thank you," I say simply.  
  
"Anytime, Captain."  
  
"Mmmm," I murmur with relish as sleeps pulls at me. I fall into blackness with thoughts of future pleasure with this amazing being beside me.  
  
============================================  
  
Bones tilts the examination table back with me on it. This motion always produces an instant of vertigo, so I close my eyes.  
  
"So, Jim, we have a barrage of things to speed your recovery." He arranges the sample tray now full of colorful vials for the hypo. "This is going to take about two and half hours, you have the time?"  
  
He has interrupted me mid-first shift. "Do I have a choice?"  
  
McCoy injects three vials worth of something directly into the leg muscle. The nurse departs and after scanning awhile, McCoy pulls over a stool and sits down.  
  
"Have you talked to Spock?" he asks unexpectedly.  
  
"I spoke with him in the lift on the way to the bridge," I say.  
  
"It is just that he seemed a little out-of-sorts down on the planet."  
  
"Did he?" I ask neutrally. I honestly don't know what McCoy would think of my behavior. I hold my tongue on questions I'd like to ask him such as: why don't Vulcans come when they orgasm? My lips try to betray me as I wonder what the good doctor would think of a question like that out-of-the-blue.  
  
He begins prepping more hypos. "He always gets a little edgy when you're hurt, but this seemed like something else."  
  
"He seemed a little tense, maybe?" I can't keep a neutral face as I say this.  
  
"He was definitely not his usual, stoic self."  
  
"I'll be sure to have a long talk with him this evening. Make sure everything is all right."  
  
McCoy nods. "If he's going to open up to anyone, it'd be to you."  
  
"You think so?" I ask ironically.  
  
He misses my tone apparently and puts the feinberger down and straightens out the devices on the tray. "Well, I have other things to do . . . I'll be back in half an hour."  
  
I am still lying on the examination table when shift ends. McCoy comes in for the fourth time. He doesn't make me do leg lifts this time, for which I am grateful; the last set were excruciating. The door swishes open and Spock strides in.  
  
"Captain," he says. "How are you feeling?"  
  
There is a slight extra warmth to his voice--an extra shade of familiarity. I smile at him. "Pretty good." I lift my leg and tilt it from side to side to show him. I almost hold back the grimace.  
  
McCoy looks at me oddly. "If you want to come back at two-hour intervals for the next two doses, I can let you go," he says.  
  
============================================  
  
With slightly unnecessary eagerness the captain sits up. "Sure."  
  
I put down the hypo and cross my arms and watch as Spock offers, without hesitation, a hand on Kirk's arm to balance as Kirk jumps off of the bed. Something is just off here, my instincts tell me.  
  
Spock releases Kirk's arm and watches him closely. His eyes are too bright and too dark at the same time. They exchange a look, though I can only see Spock's side of it.  
  
"One hour intervals?" Kirk asks, turning to me.  
  
"Two," I return.  
  
"Oh, yes. Good," the captain says and does a fair job of walking to the door. It parts for him. "I'll see you at eighteen hundred then." He gathers Spock up with a look and they depart.  
  
I stand in the empty room for a full minute trying to arrange the conflicting impressions into something logical in my mind. I finally frown and shake my head and decide to write up Kirk's case. I'll have each of them in here again at some point, so nothing will stay a mystery for long.


End file.
